


Smoke

by insultingconsulting



Category: Captain America (Comics), Iron Man (Comic), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, Civil War (Marvel), M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 17:17:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3177560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insultingconsulting/pseuds/insultingconsulting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He feels no satisfaction. It was a war with no winner. A fight with no victor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> A/N ; Please heed the archive warning. There is no happy ending. This is pure unadulterated sadness and for that I am terribly sorry. If you haven't read or haven't got at least a little understanding of the 616 Civil War arc, then this probably won't make much sense. Basically a 'what if things went even more horribly wrong than they already did' kind of scenario here.
> 
> Entirely inspired and prompted by [ [LISTEN](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-a4LgKxYjWU) ].

There’s a sickening  _crunch_  reverberating off the inside of Steve’s skull. He focuses on the sound; the way it drowns out the grunt of pain escaping his lips, the way he doesn’t hear the  _second_  crack as his body hits the floor without much help from his hands, shoulder taking the brunt of the blow. He blinks through the dust and smoke surrounding him, eyes adjusting to the new angle, curled on his side, marble floor pressed to his cheek.  _It’s_ _going to end._  His jaw hangs loose, broken, he can feel it now. Distantly he can hear the metallic whirring of titanium alloy joints adjusting. It is no longer the reassuring sound of an  _ally_ , but it takes Steve a lot longer than it should to force his instincts to recognise  _enemy_.

He has to get up. This is going to  _end_.

His eyes catch on a photograph, knocked from its place on the mantel of the grand fireplace and surrounded by shards of its broken glass. Howard Stark’s face looks back at him. He  _judges_  silently, he pleads to Steve. _I’m sorry_. The young boy in the photograph – such an image of his Father – doesn’t look. He doesn’t judge and he doesn’t plead. He looks away, surly, disinterested. _I’m so sorry._

Steve gets his hands and then his feet under him. His lungs fill with smoke as he rises. Somebody screams outside of the mansion’s walls, but it’s a distant far off sound. Steve can’t see, vision blurred from the thick evidence of  _fire_  and endless  _destruction_.

The whirring gets louder,  _movement_ ,  _speaking_ ; but Steve hears only the words,  **“** Cap  _please_ —Your jaw— _Surrender_ — **”**

As if commanded, the pain returns like another blow to the head, but it brings with it a burst of  _adrenaline_ so strong he feels the room momentarily sway before he launches forward, lodging an uppercut just beneath the faceplate of the armour. He finds joy in the way it sparks and  _crunches_ , despite one of his knuckles breaking at the impact. A well placed kick to the abdomen sends the suit backwards, over an upturned table and sprawling undignified on the marble, cracking the expensive tiles beneath the weight. Steve’s on him in a second, curling fingers beneath the faceplate and throwing all his strength into prying it away. It comes off with a groan of bending metal and Steve lands an immediate punch to the exposed flesh.

And another.

_And another._ _  
_

There’s fists pounding into his sides, breaking his own ribs. There’s screams in his ears, some of them are his own. There’s  _fire_  in his nose, and there’s  _blood_  in his mouth.

_Oh god this is_   _the end_.

Steve coughs through the smoke, tears streaming from his eyes and further blurring his vision, as he blindly lands another blow to a now unresponsive face. Blood flies from the open lips, splattering another broken photograph. His own smiling face mocks him. The Avengers are now smudged with red.  

Steve  _stops_.

Fists bruised, and heart beating, Steve clutches the shoulders of the armour. He sucks in a breath at the almost unrecognisable figure and  _chokes_ , heaving against the onslaught of smoke and death. The man beneath him has been a stranger for months, made foreign by vicious words and conflicted ideologies, but now—

_He’s not breathing._

“Tony…”

The world shrinks to the two of them. All of the pain in Steve’s body drains to a chilling numbness as he curls his hands up around his ex-lovers neck.

He doesn’t find the steady beat that he’s looking for.

“ _Tony!_ ”

Unsteady hands pull at the chest plate, ripping hinges in desperation. His breathing turns erratic, and with each inhale he draws more dust and smoke, scratching up his windpipe and leaving him gasping. The blood caking his fingers mocks him as he presses his palms to Tony’s chest and attempts to pump life back into the body he took it from.

“No…  _No_ , no  _ **no**_ …”

There’s a scream and it’s closer now. Someone’s in the room, but Steve’s vision is narrow. He can’t stop. This  _can’t_   _end_. He hunches forward, pressing his mouth against Tony’s. He tastes blood and feels sick, but this  _can’t end_. Desperately he breathes into Tony—tears tracking through the grime on his cheeks. All the air in his lungs is  _ash_ and  _useless_. Fingers curl in the fabric of Tony’s under-armour. The breath turns into a sob. His lips quiver as he withdraws his breath. His mouth stays. Gentle  _guilt_  and desperate _apology_  govern the kiss.

_Their last_.

He drags the limp body up to meet his, pressing him into his chest and holding him there. There’s a hand at his shoulder, but Steve can’t turn to find out who it is until they’re pulling him away. The body he knows so well escapes his broken fingers. The world darkens at the edges. People run in and fill the space in a blur of movement. Restraints clasp around Steve’s wrists. There is pain; in his jaw, in his ribs, in his hands, in his head, but those injuries are minor,  _they’ll heal_.

His heart will not.

He sits alone hours later. He has entirely surrendered to the enclosing walls of the prison. It’s freedom compared to the crushing pressure of regret in his chest. He’s taken down his enemy. But he feels no satisfaction. Reed Richards picks up the mantle before the blood is even cold. It was inevitable. A war with no winner. A fight with no victor.

_It has ended_...

Steve presses his hands to his face.

_And it wasn’t worth it._


End file.
